Get all 4 LAD & Gypsy releases available on Bandcamp and save 25%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Beneath MidWinter, Penumbra, Elevation, and Memories of The UnEarthed.
1. |
The Whispering Tempest
04:29
|
|||
|
You are the birth of the art of life unyielding.
You brush love across my belly with the colours of your words
I taste your touch, breathing in the visions of which you speak without the slightest doubt,
and for the first time, I dare to dream it could be mine.
Yours.
Ours.
Hours of time fly across broken strings in my body, mending them with the inflections of your voice,
that heady chalice of vapoured honey which oozes from your throat, and into my soul.
I dare to dream.
Can you see how I love you?
Can you see how time and space themselves are thrown down, falling from high places, when you speak?
Can you see that the name of "Patrona" which you appropriated for a vocation,
IS you,
truly,
at your most fervored being?
You are a tsunami of softness,
A chiffon-twist whisp of an unchained lightning, flashing prism.
The flames you pour across the miles slam me to the wall and gently rip open places that were closed.
I smile because you view them.
I smile because those vulnerable, tender worlds inside of me are safe with you.
The touch of your eyes meets the parts of me that have fashioned a downcast gaze,
The laugh of your throat, like a traverse on a thundering iron horse, bids those downcast eyes to look up once more, and live again.
"Rise Woman, RISE," you say without words, in a poetry written upon air and vibrations.
Tears come, but they are no companion of grief.
They are the longing of lifetimes and the blur-cast search across the Abyss for your moon-cast candle, in the wooded terraces of the Inferno.
Can you see how I love?
Can you see how I love you?
Can you see that no matter the whirlwind that you shut behind yourself when you walk in the door, the honeyed and plush spaces inside are ours?
And I will forever wrap you up against the blowing rain, holding you fast because you hold me fast.
The blistering caress of two unfaltering embraces, unbroken, unbowed, unconquered.
Oceans.
Time.
Angst.
These are countries through which I have slogged.
You are a luxuriant, unfettered, peninsular field of flowers and thorns,
and with laughter like a windchime's song, running my fingers across petals, my feet move unscarred,
touching the tips of softness and the pointed fierceness of the Dragon-Wolf Queen.
I am a canvas painted on by my own hand, unfinished.
And with love and the magnificent realization of a dream manifested in you, I smile my crooked smile,
let slide a tear down my thunderstruck soul,
and hand you a brush.
-Gypsy
http://thegypsyshadow.blogspot.com/2019/04/the-whispering-tempest.html
|
||||
2. |
Cobblestones & Decay
03:22
|
|||
|
Flat.
Cracked fingernails gripping the edge of a world without curves. Bloodshot orbs peering downward into the gaping maw of beasts that by the night spin imagination's horrified frock.
Against the wall's blown chamber, hard gritting tears of the fingers that struggle to grip the Real.
Tilt your head backward and look toward the ceiling as it blows away, through stinging eyes and the acridity of a conscious realization that this could be it.
It could be over.
No damning smiles of regret, no lashing tongues of compensatory exorcism.
You really could have.
Really.
But wasted, this is. The only thing here is the bowl of air and the hot winds that sear your Emperor's Clothing.
FAKE. CHARLATAN. ABASED. DECEIT.
You wear her scarred memory like a badge.
Where it once it set your steps forward into triumph, it now reveals only clownish waste.
Mockingly, stumbling, you guard its precious worth, but it is shamed by your hand and cries for what you once were.
Here is where your body smashes, here is where the flaming winds hold you fast to the dry walls. Falling through a glass morning into oblivion.
What awaits beyond the If Mountains? Do you have anything left or has it been spent on the foolish voyages into the small dawns of a mediocre, sad, momentary, brilliance?
You have sold yourself.
"Where will you go and what will you do?" asks the old woman in your eyes.
Can you ever really expect to be bought back, stood aloft, and raised as a flag over your own lachrymose wasteland?
Just lay here, in the vertical expanse between your time and what could be. The fevered disillusionment will keep the winds blowing against you, holding you up on the wall like a torn, ravished photograph, a disastrous witness to Marley's regret.
Over the calescent dervishes look you into the ceiling of stinging doubt and jester's folly.
Lover of chaos, you fell free, spiraling toward the ground in soft madness.
The impact takes years, the crash-breaking of bones and rips of flesh from sinew will last for a lifetime.
You danced for a while, and entertained those who believed in your harlequin desires.
Danced yourself into platinum and diamond dresses spun of mean dreams.
Now you are still.
-G. 3:13 a.m. 26 March 2011
http://thegypsyshadow.blogspot.com/2011/03/click-steps-on-cobblestones-graceful.html
|
||||
3. |
Song For a Night Bird
03:24
|
|||
|
I want you to know, I thank you for holding me.
I want you to know that I WILL return that comfort without failure, and with the heart's beating lullaby.
I want you to know that you are not the Sun in the sky, or the Moon betwixt tree and field,
Rather you are a shimmer of the moon's beam that I appreciate,
acknowledging it's light as well as its darkness.
I want you to know that what you do doesn't go unseen,
The sacrifices you have made, and will make, I record in my heart.
I want you to know that I see you -- both in happiness, and in the fear of not balancing all who surround you.
I want you to know that you are noticed, not for what you may do for me, but simply for your raw, unedited self, . . . the woman who just is.
I want you to know that I know the way your spirit has bent under the pressure of expectations, and I know the times that you've broken down, alone.
I want you to know that despite whatever you may feel of yourself, I look at you with pride, and see why you love the owl for its noble grace, its sight, and path through moonlit skies, when the vision of others, fails.
I want you to know that you're not only one thing to be, but many facets of a precious gem.
Perhaps not the most flashing or reflective, but more rare and beautiful than a treasure of old.
I want you to know that my empathy always flows to you, I see your tiredness when you may think no one does, and the smile to yourself that brightens your eyes.
I want you to know that you're brilliant over and over, in the quietest of ways.
I want you to know that you're understood, even if words are not agreed upon.
I want you to know that you don't have to do a thing to keep what I feel, how I care, or be seen, here.
I want you to know that no matter how time ebbs, or how much the waters of age bend our bodies, you'll find me smiling, still telling you with all sincerity that you're beautiful.
I want you to know that you are known.
I want you to know that whatever you do, are, or become, is safe, here.
These musings are not written in strife, or some ill-begotten blindness of twinkling lights which burn bright for a moment, then fall asleep.
They are pure of heart and mind and soul.
For you are already everything you hope to be,
Even if those flowers are yet to bloom, the seeds are there, planted long ago.
Yet still, because I love your heart and all you are, I just want you to know.
-G.
http://thegypsyshadow.blogspot.com/2015/11/song-for-nightbird-i-want-you-to-know-i.html
|
||||
4. |
||||
|
In evenings like this one, I miss you with my soul.
Leaving consciousness, I burn, as flame over coal.
In the reeling moments of suffering,
my eyes fill with tears.
My soul longs for your company,
as it has for hundreds of years.
In times of daylight, a vision, a word or two,
Bring rushing back like madness, my longing for you.
In the crisp clicks of dusk and in the first whispers of the eve,
My hands reach for the locket, and my mind there dost grieve.
Kissing you gently, in the only way I may,
The tears fall just softly, as my fingers they play
with the chain and the amulet, holding contents so dear,
Eyes closing in sadness, you're so far, yet so near.
Living without you is aging me so,
Life is discord and clamoring imbalance,
no reason without love's flow.
I miss you in the mornings, your voice wakes me from dreams
love's tragedy henceforth, coming apart at the seams.
Soft prayers for you in those early moments spin forth like the moon's tidal change,
Limitless and infinite, love's want knows no range.
No comfort or solace, do I find in life's days,
Loneliness has companioned me,
A constant partner, He stays.
I miss you at mid-day as my eyes become mist.
Remembrances of making love,
Past lives where we kissed.
The wine has no flavor,
Food has little taste.
Moments spent alone and desolate,
My soul seems to waste.
I miss you in dreamtime
Your face there, I see.
Even then, one finds no comfort,
Just tears amidst dreams,
no respite for me.
I cannot convey to you,
though the gods know I've tried.
You don't seem to realize,
Only life here, has died.
My heart still is yours
It will remain so.
Nothing in this world makes sense, anymore,
lost are its ebb and flow.
I miss you in the simplest ways,
in times both gentle and bold,
Yet one doesn't know how to break through
the barriers, and the cold.
I wonder if you miss me at all,
these things I do think.
As the slurry of pain and loneliness,
from the cup of sorrow, I drink.
I miss you in daytime, when the sun warms my skin,
I remember your laughter, your smiling words
touching me within.
I miss you at dusk, in the afternoon's end,
Your breathing, your presence
so wonderfully did it blend
with my consciousness and spirit,
I smiled from my soul,
your love I felt freely,
now pain takes its toll.
I miss you in the night-time, and in the wake of lonely dreams,
Yet there are more acute longings, in other moments
it seems.
For though I miss you in these days
and with night's darkness like a ghost,
It is within these moments of sad silence,
that I miss you, the most.
-G.
http://thegypsyshadow.blogspot.com/2013/05/the-souls-wintered-torpor-in-evenings_2.html
|
||||
5. |
||||
|
Original title:
Vuelo de la Pájara Desierto
The moments when caresses reach into the softness of
empassioned bodies,
Where I realize that we must feel every moment, because it is so easy to do.
The moments when twinkling lights across the blurred river tell me that my time here is waning,
The moments when my eyes soften on you and your lips caress the soul of my being.
The moments when I don’t move for a whisper, but come alive for it.
The moments when we join the time and space of ourselves, stretching across the chasm of infinity, where breath flows like rain.
The moments when I realize that the dawn brings a departure in which I leave only in body.
The moment I realized that the larger part of me never left you.
The moment I see;
The moment you see;
The moment we see those eyes of the other over pleasured touches.
The moments of time that tick away in sleep most peaceful.
The moments of rushing engines in my ears, and the exhilaration of shaking metal matching the trembling furor of my fingers.
The moments of leaving on that Southern Bird, back to the haunted passages of my living ghost.
The moments when tears, amazement, and the emotion of the heart are broken and battered over the lift into the skies. Take me Phoenix-Bird. Take me there . . .
The moments when I didn’t see the Grand Desert anymore; the moments that sorrowed me out of your open sky of heaven . . . oh how I suffered, then.
The moments when I felt my heart fall out from my bones onto a ground of clouds.
The moments when those tears were free.
The moments when I see that these tears ARE free to miss you.
Lifetimes later, the moments of desire and despair in water over my knees that steams in fingered resonance, slowly across my soul.
The moments of ocean’s depth and plunging back into you, the taste of your body, the flavor of your smile,
Forward . . . hurled madly into the laughter that destroyed my strength, flinging me downward into a loss of resolve.
The moments of finding purpose and making you proud.
The moments of coming and going, from where I once called home, to the flashing of where I belong.
Into the West . . .
She says in songed voice, "you move me."
And yes, Mi Amor . . . you really do . . . move me.
http://thegypsyshadow.blogspot.com/2015/04/vuelo-de-la-pajara-desierto.html
|
||||
LAD & Gypsy Albuquerque, New Mexico
Universes upon universes, mirrors upon mirrors . . . two worlds collided and began a collaborative, creative partnership.
These works are the result of poetry and music written in two separate worlds, in two different parts of timespace.
And to think, it all began over a game of chess . . .
"What's Past is Prologue." Shakespeare,
The Tempest
... more
LAD & Gypsy recommends:
Universal Expansion
by Ladd Allen Doane
LAD's Solo Artist Page
go to albumIf you like LAD & Gypsy, you may also like:
The Black Below
by linus and amy
Carefully chiseled atmospherics are the backdrop for angelic, melancholic vocals and persuasive rhythms.
go to album
The luminous minimal synth duo's latest, due in February, is their most carefully constructed and emotionally resonant yet.
go to album
Cosmos of the Soul
by Amie Waters
An instrumental queer space opera from Portland synthwave artist Amie Waters, who uses a universal mythos to illustrate a personal journey.
go to album
Moti Ka Sheher
by Sham-e-Ali Nayeem
Spoken word meets atmospheric electronics on this riveting LP accurately described as a “hologram love note.”
go to album
Somehow It Feels Important
by Hairdressa
Laura Hairdressa—who is both a producer and, yes, professional hairdresser—delivers an album of smoky, alluring electropop
go to album
